


Moonstruck (buttercup, so don't you let me down)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: A Fine(r) Art [7]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Drama & Romance, F/M, My downstairs is ready for a blow out tbh, Period Typical Attitudes, Pheobe comes in clutch and we all stann, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, cue the guy in the butterfly meme: is this the clue bus?, local man is ready to ruin at least three innocent gentlemen's social season, moonstruck and ready to fuck but no- there has to be plot first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 10:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30137862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: He'd been so scared of it - of her – it had taken him till a selfish end to understand his heart.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: A Fine(r) Art [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122908
Comments: 61
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of the show's characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Part seven of the "A Fine(r) Art" series. Please read "Every Aphrodite is valid (just ask Zeuxis)," "Gulosity (in all things)," "Aisthētḗs (or in other words: you're my aesthetic, baby)," "Interruptions (or: somewhere God is laughing)," "The cult of the lost cause (brought to you by: a metaphorical kick in the ass)," & "Ars longa, vita brevis (art is long, life is short)" first – in that order.
> 
> Warnings: drama, romance, romantic tension, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, angst, art, moonstruck and ready to fuck but no- there has to be plot first, My downstairs is ready for a blow out tbh, cue the guy in the butterfly meme: is this the clue bus?, local man is ready to ruin at least three innocent gentlemen's social season.

He loved her.

Oh god, he _loved her._

Of course he did.

It was a truth that buoyed him through the last hours with Phoebe and then into the brisk evening air as he left the pleasure house behind. Giving his horse its head when he reached the open fields. He rode fast, just to feel. Just to bask in the headiness of everything that was now so clearly in front of him.

Anyone watching might think he was fleeing from something monstrous.

Not even close.

For the first time in his life, he _wasn't_ running.

He wasn't running from that smoldering, hidden thing he'd kept locked away all these years. He was running _towards_ it. Wanting so desperately to keep it for his own now that the walls around his heart had been so thoroughly breached. Made to see sense by a woman he'd met only today, but felt like he'd known his entire life. A woman of pleasure who'd so seen him it was as if he'd stripped down his underthings rather than her.

His brothers had been right. Just not in the way they'd planned, he'd wager.

For who better than a woman to make a man see sense?

_Penelope._

_Penelope._

_Penelope._

It was all so clear now!

His heart felt like doorway - once firmly closed - now flung open to let in the spring air.

The wind chapped his lips as he dug his heels into heaving horseflesh. Whipping away all moisture until they were raw and dry. They felt over-stretched on his face - in danger of splitting as he bared his teeth. It could have been a grin if he weren't so determined.

He'd been so scared of it - _of her_ – it had taken him till a selfish end to understand his heart.

She'd always looked at him like she could love him. _Like she meant too_. And it had terrified him. He'd been afraid of her love. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of how it would change things. Afraid of how it would change _him_. Terrorizing him to such a point he'd never asked himself if he could love her back. If he could love her fiercely, or even at all. So, he'd never let himself consider it. Now he wanted to embrace it. To own that fledging thing that had been there all along.

He was a fool, to be sure.

But a fool in love.

He wasn't the sort of man who would force a woman's heart. Her decision, once made, demanded respect. And in that way, he could accept losing Pen. It would be the consequence of his inaction. His willing blindness to his heart and hers. But, as of now, she'd no such choice. Meaning, if she let him, he would do anything, _anything_ , to prove himself. Starting now.

He might not deserve another chance, but he couldn't lose her.

Not if there was still hope.

Only by the terrible grace of god could he fail.

* * *

He clattered into the courtyard hours later, chest heaving. Splattered with mud and horse-sweat. His cravat was loose, showing off the dirty dip of his throat. Feeling much like the heathen he appeared to be as he murmured encouraging words into his charger's mane. Patting its flank with happy exhaustion as the beast nickered. Quite ready to be brushed down and fed.

He could hardly blame it. But he couldn't share the sentiment. There was far too much excitement buzzing in his veins. Overtaking the last of the brandy as he looked up at the fading sun. Exhaling a breath that slipped into mist. Marking his place, his existence, if only for a moment.

_Now, everything changes._

He swung down from his mount, greeting the stable hand that met him. Putting a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence when the boy asked if he was to send a message to the kitchens for a late supper. Instead, he slipped into the house with deliberate caution. Hoping to avoid the majority of the household as he took the servant's stairs up to his rooms two at a time. Wondering all the while of the goings on just across the street. Finding it thrilling and strange that while he was gripped with his epiphany, Penelope might be walking her halls, nose in a book, none the wiser.

All he wanted was a chance.

Deserving of it or not.

He could - _no, he would_ \- be selfish again.

Even if it meant begging for it.

He knew it was blasphemy, but she was the only alter he could pray to now.

He would be disastrously, deliriously loyal, if only she would accept him and his foolish heart.

_It couldn't be too late!_

His heart swelled in his chest. Possessed with a sense purpose he'd never felt, but always looked for. It had been what he'd been searching for when he'd pursued Marina. Completely missing the answer that had been in front of him from the beginning. Begging ever so gently to be noticed. For him to understand the depths of her feelings and in the same breath- know his own.

So much made sense now.

He'd thought the conflict in her eyes regarding Marina's condition had been concern for his feelings. But now he understood it hadn't all been that. There had been her own hurt she'd been struggling with.

_Lord, she'd been jealous._

Even now it threatened to ripple a shiver through him.

_To know he meant so much to her to provoke such feeling!_

He made it to his rooms unaccosted. Breathing hard as he eased the door shut behind him. Eyes immediately going to the painting and its gilded frame. Letting the woman greet him with her coy smile and lush curves. Now a warm and familiar welcome.

There was much to do.


	2. Chapter 2

"He doesn't seem much relaxed," Benedict observed, watching the servants hurry back and forth. The post-supper calm effectively shattered by a series of mysterious requests from upstairs.

_Wrapping paper._

_Ribbon._

_A blank, silver-bracketed greeting card._

_Warmed ink._

_A fresh sheath of parchment._

"No," Anthony returned crisply. Watching the flurry of activity with guarded worry. "He does not."

Colin hadn't come down for dinner. Considering the circumstances, neither of them had expected it. In fact, they'd already made his excuses to Mama. From what the servants shared; Colin had arrived only an hour ago. According to the steward, he'd been streaked with mud and called for a bath before shutting himself in his rooms. No one other than his man-servant had seen him since.

Obviously he was quite cross with them.

Which, again, was unsurprising.

It had been a chore to pull him from his rooms that morning. Not even the promise of a conveniently nonexistent boxing match had enticed him. Preferring to sulk in his bedclothes. Mooning about the damned painting and not looking after his health.

So, naturally, they'd forced him out.

Colin had been so preoccupied he hadn't noticed what area of 'ton they were in until they stopped in front of the pleasure house. Expression switching from shocked to thunderous in less time than a person could blink. At that point, propriety kept him in line long enough for them to force him inside.

It had been for his own good, of course. Knowing things would likely improve when their brother resolved his... _frustrations_. It was a rite of passage they'd all learned from. The first and most important lesson being, to handle such needs discreetly and regularly. For men of their standing, there was simply too much at stake to risk an ill-advised affair.

Perhaps they might remember those lessons themselves, someday.

_Ahem._

Still, resolved or not, they'd expected some orneriness of temper.

Colin was far too stubborn to admit he'd been wrong for resisting them.

But they hadn't been expecting _this_.

This manic whirl of activity rather than mellowed calm.

One would have thought the lad might retire early.

Apparently not.

"What on earth did Miss Prophete do with him?" Anthony hissed, watching several servants hurry up and down the stairs. Their clipped footsteps echoing from the floor above.

"Or _to_ him," Benedict parroted, eyes crinkling in open amusement. Less concerned than his older brother. Having faith that whatever transpired between their brother and Miss Prophete had surely been mutually beneficial.

He should know, after all.

The hive of activity seemed to lessen after that. With the upper floor falling quiet for at least an half-hour before the chime of a bell rang out. Beckoning the servants once again. A few minutes after that, the two of them watched as a large package, dressed in a forest green ribbon, was carried swiftly down the main stairs.

"What's all this?" Anthony demanded, causing the servant's head to whip up. Harried and slightly out of breath.

"I don't know my lord, but I'm to deal with it right away!"

The man scurried away. Closely followed by a coachman holding an envelope on a silver tray with such care one might think it was combustible.

After that, the excitement finally seemed to die down. At least until Eloise burst into the study near an hour later. Rousing the brothers from their glasses of port to share what she'd discovered with her usual poise and volume.

"The painting is gone!"

Neither of them had to ask which one.

_Colin's painting._

"That's what was in the package! I swear it!" she shrilled, pacing in front of them. Color high in her cheeks. "Did you- Colin- he sent it across the street! _To the Featheringtons!_ I saw it! He waited until it was delivered, then left on horseback. He told Rose he was spending the night in 'ton and wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

Benedict's face scrunched into a frown.

"The Featheringtons? Why would he send it there?"

Anthony set down his glass a bit sharper than intended. Frustration in danger of bleeding into anger.

"Where is he going at this hour? It's past nightfall."

Eloise drew in a breath, as if to answer, before exhaling suddenly.

"Oh," she murmured.

Both brothers sat up in their chairs. Alarmed. Eloise was never speechless. Never without words or tongue.

" _Oh_ ," she repeated faintly, face going pale. Clutching the back of the nearest couch until her fingers bleached white. "Of course…"

"Eloise? What is it? What's going on?"

Benedict had almost crossed over to her when she waved him away. Shaking her head.

"All this time… Lord, it makes sense," she exclaimed quietly, tone uneven. Like she might be dangerously close to tears. "And then with the damned painting. Oh no- _of course_! The way he reacted when I brought her up to see it and- no… _no!_ How could I have been so blind?"

She looked close to stricken at this. Hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened.

"Why didn't she say? Why didn't she tell me!?"

And with that she whirled away, dashing off in a hush of skirts and fresh-salt tears.

Anthony and Benedict blinked at each other, both now standing. Itching for action - any action - in response to their sister's distress. Slowly realizing that perhaps they'd missed something vital as Eloise's last words echoed in the eves.

It was Anthony, however, who finally put voice to it. Pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What in God's name is going on!?"

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Moonstruck: unable to think or act normally. Especially because of being in love.


End file.
